HeartShaped Box
by Spliced-up-Angel
Summary: I sighed, "Aren't sick people supposed to be sweet and caring?"  "Aren't delinquents supposed to be scary?" she snapped, without taking a breath. D/C. T for language and depressing content.


**Congratulations to Devil of the Mist for coming in third place in my oneshot contest. They requested a Duncan/Courtney oneshot, so here it is. I apologize for how long this has taken to compete. I hope you enjoy. This is inspired by Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana. Warning: It may be depressing.**

Heart-Shaped Box

_~She eyes me like a Pisces when I am weak. I've been trapped inside your heart-shaped box for weeks.~_

Exactly how I got there is not important. Let's just say shit happens, stuff blows up, and people get the blame. Before I got there, pity wasn't even part of my vocabulary. It might as well have been a foreign word. I failed to hold any pity for those in the hospital, for those living alone, those dying, and those who were as good as dead.

I entered that white-walled hospital, grinning stupidly at the place I would be spending my time doing hours. My officer's hand was grasped tightly around my shoulder. The nurses, passing me in the hallway, looked up and starred. They clearly had never seen a male teenager with green hair and piercings before. Stupid broads. I grinned smugly at one woman in white to be scowled at. She then looked away to my amusement. Back then, I couldn't care less about what they went through every day. It couldn't be that bad... right? Anyway, the officer, who I cared so much more over my patrol officer, led me into a tall doorway. This door, of course, lead to a room pained- Big surprise! _White_. I started to believe this was either a mad house or some replica of heaven... purgatory would make more sense now that I think of it, since everyone was basically dead there. There was a large, brown desk, many cabinets, and a large red chair that was put smack into the centre of the picture. _Lovely_. The chair turned around to reveal a tall blonde woman. She glared at me.

"Another one, eh?" she rhetorically asked, perching her lips towards me, "Tell me, boy. What's your name?" She leaned into her hands, which were clasped together on the desk. The officer pushed me closer, lightly. Heh, he still beat my patrol officer, this time in the _lame_ department.

I glared back at the officer grimly; authority meant nothing to me. I moved my head to gaze at the woman. "Duncan," I retorted smugly.

She nodded slowly into her hands. "You have fifteen hours due to your implications. Do you understand why?"

I smirked and shook my head, fully knowing why I was here. I just wanted to mess with her. Women were so stupid.

She scowled at this, "Whatever. Just get him dressed and into the patient room. Also, take out those awful piercings; they're gross."

I put my hand to my eyebrow rings. There was no way this crazy bitch was going to take these out. I would never allow her. My piercings symbolized me; they were my children. Who would take a child away from a parent? Instead I laughed, "You can't be serious! Listen here, Tuts," I pointed to a ring that sat on my eyebrow, "These are not coming off."

"Very well then," she sighed, aborting her _mission_ sooner than expected, "Just get him changed."

Before I knew it, I was changed into a white uniform. It was clearly made for scrawny nurses because it dragged up my muscles tightly. I hated that shirt and what it stood for. This outfit had, "tool" written all over it and I was not willing to carry that. I was brought into another white room. This time, instead of nurses running around, teenagers around my age habited this room. The room was pretty depressing. I mean, it was white enough to turn someone crazy; the magazines lying on the white tables were ancient; the small beds made the ground look comfortable; the faces on the sick teens were sad enough to make me cry; and the dead smell was intoxicating. I couldn't take it in this place. It was terrible.

Then I saw her. Her dark caramel skin was weak, although, her short brown hair, and her uppity expression is what really turned me on. I don't know why I wanted to associate with this girl. I guess she was different. If you looked at her, you could tell she was sick. Yet, if you spoke to her, you would wonder if she was faking it. She was not like the other sick girls. They were quiet and modest. This girl was loud and demanding. I could hear her from where I was standing. She was bitching to a nurse about leaving or something. Bottom line was I needed to meet this chick.

I followed the officer, through the room, passed the bickering girl. Passing by her, I managed to get a good look at her. She wasn't bad; nice ass, decent bust, nice size, cute face- I'd do her. It was almost funny how she sat up in the bed so stiffly. One would assume someone as ill as her would be wobbling or not even able to sit up. This girl was strong. She must have noticed me checking her out, because she paused her rant and began glaring daggers at me. She mumbled something about me being barbaric, and went right back to bitching.

I was given a stack of blankets that were as, if not more, white than the rest of the hospital. I grimaced at the nurse who gave them to me. She was not as timid as the other women; I could tell by the way she firmly guided me back out of the room. Her gaze was fixed on me constantly; she was elderly, wrinkly, and fearless. I almost respected this woman.

I was instructed to change the bed sheets on all of the beds. I counted. Four dying beds were standing in the room. I sighed, rolling my eyes, and went to the first bed. The teenager lying on the bed was a blonde boy. A cowboy hat sat on his blonde hair. His weak blue eyes made their way into my green eyes. "Dude," his voice was harsh sounding, "You want me to move or something."

"You know what? You don't need to, but it would be easier to make the bed that way."

"Alright, man," he replied. After a few minutes of silence, I realized he wasn't going to move.

I sighed, "Get up."

"It's cool, dude. Chill out," he sat up and moved onto his wheelchair, which was beside him.

I rolled my eyes, not wanting to fight with him, and began making the bed. The sheets were heavy and scratchy. There was no wonder why the teenagers were so depressed; nothing was comfortable here. I continued to go to each bed and change the sheets until I got to the last bed. The girl from before was sitting on the bed with her arms crossed. She gave me an angered look.

"What's wrong, Princess?" I asked her. By her grimacing expression, I dubbed that to be her official nickname, "I'm gonna have to ask you to get up so I can change your sheets." She refused to move. "Get up."

"Don't you have any other colour sheets?" she asked, looking at my eyebrow rings.

I showed her the white blankets, "Does it look like I do?"

"I'm not getting up for some delinquent like you. What's your deal, anyway?" she asked, like any busy body would.

"Look here, Princess," I told her, "Either you get up or I'll make you."

She pouted and crossed her arms. "You're not scary."

I sighed, "Aren't sick people supposed to be sweet and caring?"

"Aren't delinquents supposed to be scary?" she snapped, without taking a breath.

I was taken aback by this. She was one of the few people who had ever spoken to me like that, not surprising considering how hot she was. I smirked at her comeback and chucked slightly, "I'll show you scary." I pulled up my shirt, revealing my stomach, "You see this?" I pointed to a red scar on my stomach, "I got that from a fumble. Took a knife to the gut. Some punk thought it would be cool to attack me. Can you beat that, Princess? How tough are you?"

Expecting that she would get freaked out and listen to me, I continued smirking. However, she smiled at me in a cocky way. She pulled up her own shirt to reveal her stomach. There was a long, squiggly, red line running across her stomach, just under her navel. It looked new, as if it had been opened several times. Her stomach was an eerie purple colour, as if it was zombified. "_This_ is from multiple surgeries. You think you're tough because you got a _wittle scratch_? Well, I've been through a lot more than you could imagine. Care to see the one on my side?"

I moved back. Okay, that was disgusting, even for me. "You win," I mumbled.

"I always win," she perked, "I love winning." She then sighed, "This place is so boring and white. Why won't the nurses let me out?"

"You have magazines and there are other teens here to keep you company," I offered, hoping she would get up so I could change the sheets.

"Please, I'm not even sure if they'd come back half the time; it's not that easy."

I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "Maybe, I could keep you company."

"Ugh! Get out of here! You're not my type!" she exclaimed.

One of the nurses walked over and pulled me away, "You've done enough work for today. We will meet you tomorrow, same time." The woman in white told me.

The next day I entered the same cruel room and made all the beds. When I finally reached the Princess' bed, she was glaring daggers at me. "What are _you_ doing here?" she asked.

"My job," I smirked, "How about you, Princess?"

"I'd appreciate if you didn't call me that," she told me. I was _so_ going to keep calling her that. Her reaction was cute.

"I'll let you know that my sheets do not need to be changed. You can go now." she told me.

"Nah, I think I'll stay," I said, sitting on her bed. I could understand why she didn't want to stay here; the mattress felt like a board.

"Can you get off? I don't even know your name-"

"Duncan," I interrupted her rant.

She looked at me confused.

"Duncan," I repeated, "My name is Duncan."

She paused for a second, then spoke. "I'm Courtney."

"I prefer Princess," I barked.

She crossed her arms and looked away, knowing that she wasn't going to win. "Whatever. Why are you even here?"

"Shit happens," I started, "I got framed for putting graffiti on the walls of the hospital. Come on, I'm hardcore, but that's just evil! I'm kind of known around here to pull crazy stunts, so I don't blame 'em. Yourself?"

"Like I'm telling you why I'm here," she said.

"Courtney, it can't be that bad," I told her, looking into her eyes, "Tell me."

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. I have cancer, okay? I'm here until I find someone with compatible bone marrow; they haven't found a match yet. I don't know why they just don't let me out of here. I feel fine. Sometimes I wonder if it's the atmosphere that's keeping me sick," she spat.

It was weird. Something inside of me fluttered, a light to my candle. I wanted to see her every day. To make this girl smile, to help her live on. From that day on, I made sure I saw her every day, even when I finished my hours. Each time I saw her, she smiled more and more. Courtney began to look even better than before. I learned a lot about her and her family, and realized that we could relate a lot.

"I'm getting sicker, Duncan," she told me one day, "The doctor told me he doesn't know how long I'm going to make it."

"You're lying. You look like a million!" I exclaimed, making her smile a bit. I wasn't lying either. Her skin was less dry and she was gaining a good amount of weight- she no longer looked like she suffered from malnutrition.

"Be serious for once," she snapped. My stomach began to hurt. She wasn't kidding.

"Can't they just find someone who has compatible marrow?" I asked, almost choking on my words. I couldn't lose her. Her smile delivered a beautiful package nothing else could.

"It's not that easy," she responded, "As I told you, my blood is rare. It'll be hard to find someone who is compatible."

"I'll do it," I said, without thinking. I was desperate now, but hoped not to show it.

"Don't be stupid. You already got your blood tested. Duncan, you are a type B, I am a type O." This hurt me. I squeezed her hand, and went on with our usual conversation. Before I left, I gave her a kiss on the forehead and said what might be the last goodbye.

Her words haunted me that night. I couldn't get it out of my head. She might die. She may not breathe anymore. I couldn't take it! I took out my nicest carving knife and cut a huge chunk of wood out of my desk. I carved the wood into the shape of a heart and dug a hole inside. It was her own box.

The next day, I approached the hospital. I walked inside and stood at the information desk. I rang the bell numerous times. A secretary, dressed in the snowy colour, answered. "What can I do for you?"

"Nurse, you _must_ have records lying around. Do you know anyone who has O type blood?" I almost grabbed her shirt in anticipation. Anxiety rushed through me like a train at full speed.

She looked inside her filling cabinet for what felt like an eternity, and finally came back with a smile, "Yes, I do. His name is Cody Anderson. If you'd like, I can contact him."

"Thank you, woman!" I exclaimed, feeling happy enough to kiss her. I grabbed the file and ran to the teen room. I approached the room, smile plastered on my face, ready to exclaim the good news to Courtney. However, something stopped me.

The white room, which I finally became comfortable in, gave me the chills. I knew there was something wrong by the brigade of teenagers crowded around the bed that once belonged to Courtney. My smile turned to a deep frown. What the Hell was going on? As I got closer I heard cries of sorrow. I slowed down my passe. I pushed two weaker teens out of the way, and edged between them. What I saw was not pretty. The Princess. _My_ Princess lay there lifeless. She was stiff as a stone and looked as pale as snow. For the first time in years I felt tears trickle down my face like raindrops on a tree. Then, an uproar of thunder escaped my throat as I began crying louder.

"Courtney! Wake up at once! I've found someone compatible!" I moved closer to her to feel her frozen touch. Some nurses tried to grab me, but I pulled away. "Princess!" I cried once more before dropping down to my knees. I sobbed into her chest. "I love you." Courtney's heart-shaped box fell from my clutch. It dropped to the ground in a crash.

I've never hated the colour white so much. The roses in that heart-shaped box was black. I hoped the darker shade would lighten up her mood. It's an oxymoron, now that I think of it. She taught me so many things. I began to respect people more, focus on my school work, become a better person. This charity work was no longer community service due to my faults. It was community service because it somehow brought me closer to Courtney. She needed the bone marrow that would finally eat her cancer away. Why wasn't I compatible?

_~I've been drawn into your magnet tar pit trap. I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black~_

**So, how was it? Sorry, if it seemed a little rushed. I had a lot going on the past few weeks. Anyways, please R&R.**


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